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The old man and the Cerveseria

Spain is made for getting lost. Getting lost is part of the spanish culture I reckon, just like the manjana attitude. Cities are made for confusion, with rounded corners, optical illusions and streets that do not interact with google maps at all. So there I was trapped again one morning with an upcoming influensa, a heavy rucksack and my mind full of plans and ideas. On my way to the station, a straight line on google maps, I managed to get lost. Maybe it was the fever, but I got drawn into a corner cafeteria for no reason at all.

The old man behind the monumental tower of a coffemachine made four other espressos and americanos while serving me and having an eye on the street. He was just another worker in a way, but the fact that he was pretty old and at the meantime the slowest, most effective barrista I ever came upon, made me start to go into my philosophy corner.

I admired him as he came out on the street on occations, I could observe him obscurely in the dark bar pouring milk foam with attention like a clockmaker. Several times I tried to photograph him, but he slid away and I started to understand that in his seemingly slow moments he was moving around at the speed of light.

For two days I had stayed in the city of Gandia, an hour south of Valencia. Now on a monday morning I was on my way back to the turmoil of the bigger city. Struggeling around in my needs for solitude and my aim to explore my needs for societys, I knew I was very close to an understanding of something.

The evening before I had gone to bed hungry. Still not able to adapt to the siesta, I was heading back to my room as flocks and crowds of people headed into the centre of town where the restaurants were to open at nine in the evening.

All alone walking the opposite way into my chosen solitude, I stronly observed the difference between my norwegian blood and the spanish. Considering myself a introvert/extrovert at the same time, I started to seriously wonder about my extrevertness. I did not even envy them their togetherness, just wanted to curl up in my bed with a film and a cup of tea. But here, on a cornercafe the next morning, the old man in the Cerveceria made me change again. He was totally in his own aura, he was enjoying the people and he loved to serve.

The same morning I had deattached my own antennas outward, as I wanted to heal myself from that influensa and there in my selfhealing, I learned something new that I still do not understand. Something about another type of antennas out on the world. Something about being a total ego inside your body, your temple, in order to make a society working, to serve the people, to create human interaction. I loved that coffee. That moment. And it was all because of one old man that created magic around him.

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